


summer in the sun

by labocat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Beach Volleyball, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: On the one hand, Oikawa really couldn’t argue with the decision to have men’s beach volleyball teams’ uniforms switch to swimsuits like the women’s. It was only a matter of time before one side met the other, and realistically, no one was going to give up bikini bottoms.On the other, it made practice that much harder.





	summer in the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miaou Jones (miaoujones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/gifts).



On the one hand, Oikawa really couldn’t argue with the decision to have men’s beach volleyball teams’ uniforms switch to swimsuits like the women’s. It was only a matter of time before one side met the other, and realistically, no one was going to give up bikini bottoms.

On the other, it made practice that much harder.

In every way.

During matches, he could focus, could see beyond his appreciation for a nicely formed, barely covered ass crouched in front of him, focusing on the signals he was given rather than the muscles flexing behind that hand, but in practice, after the tenth round of diving drills towards the end of the second straight hour of practice, his mind started to wander.

Too bad he was pretty sure his partner was straight.

He’d been almost positive that wasn’t the case when his coach had gotten him together with Ushijima Wakatoshi, a couple months before Olympic trials. It had been a last-ditch effort to have a chance to compete, with Iwaizumi having to withdraw after his shoulder had dislocated one too many times, and Ushijima’s partner had retired, wanting to go out on a high note after their reign in the Japanese beach volleyball circuit. Ushijima had walked up to him, looked him up and down in a way Oikawa was most familiar with from trawling for partners in bars, and nodded, saying that he would do.

Oikawa had spluttered, then pulled his pride up like a shell, rattling off his years of competition, medals won, and had been about to launch into all the magazines he and Iwaizumi had been featured in, possibly even explaining what had won his title as “Volleyball’s Hottest Bachelor”, when Ushijima had just interrupted him with a simple, “I know.”

Two words and a stare that burned him more than the sun beating down on them, but surprisingly lacking in anything other than surety in his own words. Oikawa had been thrown off guard for the second time that day, and definitely didn’t like it, no matter what he thought of Ushijima’s thighs or what he thought about the prospect of them flexing, crouched in front of him. 

They’d practiced a lot, more than Oikawa had ever had to practice with Iwaizumi, but only having two people on the court was a far cry from the comfort of having six players to cover. He and Iwaizumi had switched to beach volleyball after working well together for so long; they’d known each others’ movements even before they were the only two to watch while on the court, so the switch felt natural. Now he had to adjust to Ushijima, to having a left-handed hitter, but more than that, to adjust to an entirely different presence on the court. 

He found himself watching Ushijima all the time, and while he told himself that he was simply learning how Ushijima moved, how to predict his motions and body language, there was something about him that always drew Oikawa’s eye. Even if Ushijima’s eyes didn’t exactly stray, even when Oikawa would shake his ass at him if he was standing in front, a move that never failed to get an eye-roll or a slap to his thigh to get back to business from Iwaizumi, but got no reaction at all from Ushijima. 

It was like the man didn’t have emotions. Everything was matter-of-fact, and everything was infuriatingly right. All Oikawa’s calls to loosen up, or dubbing Ushijima ‘Ushiwaka’ did nothing to break through that exterior, not even cracking a smile from him, and Oikawa was running out of options. He’d tried being suave, he’d tried being friendly, he’d tried being annoying and none of it had worked.

Except for the part where they worked together well as a team. Ushijima was always there under all of his balls, and even out of a wild dive, the ball always seemed to be back in Oikawa’s area, ready to set. Their plays weren’t perfect, but they were a hell of a lot better than anyone would have predicted from a team that had only formed a month before, and could only improve from there. 

They’d swept trials, and everything had seemed fine right up until the announcement of their place as Olympians, when the announcement of the change in uniforms came as well. 

Oikawa didn’t care about it in terms of his own modesty — it would likely mean another magazine cover, possibly more — but he was only human. And while Ushijima may have ice running through his veins, Oikawa wasn’t going to be able to say the same. 

Even though he may have wanted a cold shower right after seeing just how short the bottoms would be and immediately picturing where that would hit on Ushijima’s ass in front of him. 

Somehow, he’d survived, but become even more sure that Ushijima was tragically straight, or at least, not interested in men. Nothing else would explain the sheer lack of any reaction at all when they’d received new practice uniforms in the new style. Even their coach had whistled, and he was as straight and old and they made them (and still let them on beach volleyball courts, that is). Oikawa had struck a pose and then dropped into some stretches, getting a feel for how the material moved, and making sure to linger on the ones that showed off his assets to greatest effect. 

His eyes had definitely lingered over Ushijima, but Ushijima had simply done his stretches with no more than a cursory look at Oikawa as if to simply confirm that he was on the court and alive. 

It helped cool his ardor, at any rate, so Oikawa supposed he was grateful for that part at least. He’d tried his best to ignore the new expanses of skin open to him the rest of practice, the planes of Ushijima’s muscles that he just was not allowed to touch, and but for a few slips, he thought he’d done pretty well. Of course it didn’t hurt that their coach ran them all but ragged doing exercises, but mostly it was Oikawa’s self-control.

Practices were even worse because practices meant being outside and under the sun long enough that sunscreen wore off and needed to be reapplied. Another unforseen curse of the new uniforms: no one could cover their entire back with sunscreen by themselves. A job which usually fell to their partner. 

Oikawa cursed whoever had made the decision for these new uniforms with each pass of his hands over Ushijima’s taut, oiled skin and the way he didn’t want to stop touching him. He cursed the way Ushijima didn’t even react, the way he had to hold back noises as Ushijima returned the favor, his hands just firm enough on Oikawa’s back to be distracting, and finally, the way the sand always stuck more after a fresh coat of sunscreen, drawing even more attention to the play of Ushijima’s muscles and the way the sun shaded everything. 

Somehow, mostly thanks in large part to makers of hand lotion and tissues, they made it to Rio without incident, and without Oikawa taking too many balls to the face out of distraction — unfortunately not the balls he would have preferred, but he’d learned by now that he couldn’t always have what he wanted. Iwaizumi had stopped answering his texts when they didn’t contain a specific question, because they invariably devolved into wails about how good Ushijima’s muscles looked shadowed in the sun and how unfair this whole thing was. So Oikawa had learned to start with a question, _then_ devolve into wails about how biteable Ushijima’s ass was and how much of a distraction he was, crouched in front of Oikawa. 

But somehow, they were there, in Rio, in the hot sun and sand and competing, and Oikawa relished every moment. The actual matches themselves were a blur, that wonderful switch between the sharp focus of competition, of his awareness narrowing to the court and the ball and the way the air changed with each movement, and the hazy moments between, of absorbing what their coach tried to tell them in between, of trying to add in new elements to their play in the last minute. He’d had a brief moment to be stunned at how easily he and Ushijima could read each other’s movements now, but it had come right at a particularly harsh serve from the American team, both of them flying into position, and the set went on and he’d just nodded, the feeling of it all settling into place as natural as breathing in the end. 

Then, just as quickly as the whole thing had seemed thrown together, they were in the bronze medal match against Brazil, blinking into the sun as they entered onto the court. That they’d even made it this far was just short of a miracle, and even faced with the strength of the Brazilian team, Oikawa knew that both of them burned for the taste of that medal. He knew his expression was mirrored in Ushijima’s, even without looking over at him. He realized that he knew Ushijima’s presence behind him, could feel him shifting, as eager for victory as he was, until he could imagine that their hearts beat as one.

It came down to the last set, match point, all four of them exhausted, muscles burning and entire bodies heaving with each breath. It was the Brazilian team’s serve: his aim had been vicious before, gaining most of the points by picking apart the openings in their defense and Oikawa expected the worst, that it would come to him, forcing Ushijima to set and him to spike, separating them. And sure enough, the serve was aimed at him in the back corner, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ushijima shift, and _knew_. He ran up, leaving his corner bare and waiting, trusting that the ball would be up within his sight soon. And sure enough, there it was, with Ushijima scrambling up from the sand to get into position to spike. 

When the ball buried itself in the sand at the Brazilian team’s feet, Oikawa didn’t even think. He turned and leaped at Ushijima and threw himself into his arms, bringing them both down into the sand, chests heaving as he laughed, shifting into an attempt at a better position and trying to catch his breath and realize that they’d won, they’d actually won the bronze, that they were Olympic medalists. 

What made it real more than anything was the way Ushijima’s hands lifted away at first, then came to settle on his back, actually returning the embrace, rather than simply patting his back awkwardly. That and the smile, surprisingly soft and sincere, as Ushijima pulled him up off the sand and almost into his arms. Not close enough for Oikawa’s liking, but the elation carried him through.

Oikawa rode that high right through the rest of the night, through rounds of drinks and cheers in the Olympic Village, up until he found himself leaning up against Ushijima in a booth in the back of a bar, the third bar by his count, but he’d lost count long ago, Ushijima entirely too upright for the number of drinks they’d both been bought. 

“We did it,” Oikawa said as he clinked his water glass against Ushijima’s, then proceeding to drink down about half of it in one go.

“It’s bad luck to toast with water here.”

“Oh, relax, Ushiwaka, we already won. What else do you need luck for?” He bumped his shoulder against Ushijima’s, laughing as he threw one arm up. “We won!” he cried to the bar, looking around from table to table, all of whom ignored him at this point.

So he was entirely unprepared for Ushijima to turn his face back towards him, and murmur, “This.” And then suddenly Ushijima’s lips were on his, warm and firm and far more hesitant than Oikawa would have expected.

“What the fuck,” Oikawa said, when Ushijima pulled back, staring at him entirely too intently. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t responded to Ushijima’s kiss at all, but as soon as that thought crossed his mind and he reached for Ushijima to pull him back and try again, Ushijima had shifted away.

“And that’s why you don’t toast with water.”

“Wait, what?” Oikawa held a hand up, turning to face Ushijima fully, brows furrowed. “No. No, you don’t get to just kiss me out of the blue when I’ve been wanting to do that for _months_ and then just decide you failed because of _water_! Come back here, we’re trying that again.” He reached up to haul Ushijima back in towards him, and while the resulting pull may have yanked Ushijima towards him harder than he intended, mashing their lips together in a way that did not show off Oikawa’s prowess at kissing _at all_ , at least Ushijima was back pressed up against him. And kissing him, that was important.

“What do you mean, months?” Ushijima asked when they parted for air, finally having gotten a rhythm down, and Oikawa mourned the absence.

“Months! What do you think all that joking and flirting around you was for? I thought you were straight!”

“I thought that was just your personality,” Ushijima said, and Oikawa would have been more offended at how much effort he had wasted, if Ushijima’s hand hadn’t been creeping down the back of his shorts in a way that was entirely distracting but entirely enticing.

“I can’t believe we wasted so much time. We could’ve been doing this so much earlier.” Through a truly heroic show of effort, he pulled away from Ushijima, mostly through the knowledge that standing up got him to dragging Ushijima behind him to the bar bathroom that much faster.

In the back of his mind, Oikawa was slightly surprised they didn’t get stopped, with such clear intent of purpose, but given the general resignedness of Olympic Village towards sex, he supposed it was par for the course for the bar.

Certainly the bathroom was mostly empty by the time they stumbled in, groping at each other’s clothing frantically as if somehow with enthusiasm, they could make up for missed time. The little basket with lube and condoms was empty as well, and Oikawa all but growled up until the point that Ushijima pulled a packet of lube out of his pocket.

“Why...no, you know what? I don’t even care, and I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks about toasting with water, because you’re all wrong and I have been dreaming about these thighs and I am going to have them.” Slapping said thighs lightly, he pushed Ushijima up against the wall, all but climbing him in an attempt to get as close as possible. He’d never been so glad that Ushijima took orders well when all it took was Oikawa shoving at his shoulder for him to turn and face the wall, bending slightly at another push to give Oikawa perfect access to lean over him and grind his erection against the ass that had been taunting him for months. 

“How is your ass so damn perfect?” Oikawa panted, gratified to know he wasn’t the only one overly affected as Ushijima gave in with a moan and rested his head against the wall, bracing himself at a better angle to push his cock into Oikawa’s hand.

“Squatting exercises. I would imagine yours is quite nice as well.” Clearly not affected enough, if he was still able to form complete sentences, and Oikawa was torn between laughing and wanting to absolutely wreck Ushijima to the point that he forgot words as a point of pride. 

“It is, and you might’ve known that if you’d been paying attention.” Yanking Ushijima’s pants down gave him better access, as well as access to his thighs, and Oikawa wasted no time in slathering lube between them and spreading the rest on his own cock in an attempt to at least reduce Ushijima to nothing but noises.

All it took was a pat to Ushijima’s thighs and he was squeezing them around Oikawa, the heat and pressure of it everything he’d dreamed of, the pulse of Ushijima’s muscles around him making his vision white out for a second. He was sure his moan echoed in the bathroom, but at the moment, he didn’t care, because anyone who would have been bothered didn’t know just how good being pressed between Ushijima’s legs felt. The hot, slick slide of it, the head of his cock bumping against the base of Ushijima’s, the way he could feel Ushijima’s muscles trembling as he tried to hold the position for Oikawa but still try to thrust into Oikawa’s hand, and best and most surprising of all, the soft, high wimpers Ushijima was letting out throughout it all. 

He had Ushijima at his mercy, panting underneath him and the thrill of it felt almost as satisfying as the sound of the medal-winning ball smacking into the sand.

Neither of them were likely to last long, and now that Oikawa knew that he could have Ushijima under him, or likely even on top of him, if he asked, he didn't feel the need to make it last, chasing that peak and tipping them both over it with a shout.

Oikawa felt a _tiny_ bit bad about the mess he left between Ushijima’s thighs, but it was overridden by the pride at both of their accomplishments that day.

He grinned as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and handed them over, eyes already raking over the rest of Ushijima’s physique with a new appreciation now that he could touch instead of just look.

“See, this is why you should clearly listen to me off the court as well,” he teased, leaning up for another kiss as Ushijima turned around, cutting off any argument Ushijima might've had preemptively. Even if Ushijima would've been right, Oikawa’s way and argument had them both happy in the end, which was what mattered in the end. It had got them the medal, after all.


End file.
